


Power and Control

by murdur



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Breast Worship, F/M, Light Bondage, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, female presenting nipples
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 14:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16996464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdur/pseuds/murdur
Summary: Sif finds herself with her wrists tied and patience tested.





	Power and Control

**Author's Note:**

> This is just pure indulgent smut, written partially in response to a certain website not allowing nipples anymore, so this is an ode to breasts!

Sif pulls at her restraints, knowing full well that the soft leather wound around her wrists won’t give.

That was the _point,_ of course, but she cannot help but feel slightly vexed by the reduction of her freedom. Her _power_. That, of course, is also the point of all of this. Sif has always craved power, loved obtaining and wielding it. She is also undeniably attracted to power in her partners and thrills when power is used against her. It's...complicated. But her fixation has also lent itself to seeking out Loki’s bed on many occasions, happy as he always is to indulge in and challenge her power.

Instead of trying to sort out exactly how she was persuaded into this particular scenario, she tries to relax into the soft bed, the silk sheets caressing her naked skin. The restraints hold her arms above her head, putting her breasts on a beautiful display.

Loki, likely fully aware of and enjoying her internal conflict over this power balance, sits near her hip and does not comment.  Instead, he leans down, positioning himself over her, and kisses her, slow and deep. His hands glide up her arms to her wrists, checking the restraints and the ties that fasten them to his headboard. His handiwork must be acceptable; she can feel him smile with satisfaction into their kiss. It is not lost on Sif that Loki has chosen to remain clothed in his soft leather and high collar while her skin is bare beneath him. Just another demonstration of imbalance that makes her warm with frustration and longing. His tongue slips into her mouth, and he kisses her thoroughly. She tolerates it for a moment and then bites his lip, as if to say _get on with it._

He grunts but complies with her wishes. Shifting off of her, Loki lays on his stomach near her side. Slowly, he sets one hand against her skin and fondles the soft mounds of her breasts. Her bosom may not be ample, but _stars_ is it sensitive.

She sighs into the pleasant touch when he raises himself up onto his elbows on either side of her and lets both his hands caress the skin of her chest. His touch is unhurried, letting his fingers and palms graze her breasts, circling wide and then spiraling inwards, massaging and squeezing before smoothing down the line between her swells.

Heat pools in her gut and between her legs but she wants, _needs_ , more. She can feel Loki’s eyes on her, drinking in every reaction that passes across her face.

His lazy, wandering circles tighten until he catches a nipple between his fingers, the light pressure making Sif’s back arch off the bed and her arms pull at her restraints. Loki tests her reaction again, harder this time until a low moan slips from Sif’s lips. His grin is infuriatingly smug. She bares her teeth at him.

He continues, pinching and rolling one, then the other, and sometimes both, varying his pressure and his rhythm. His deft actions alight the nerve endings in Sif’s sensitive breasts and she offers him pleased sounds. Next her runs his knuckles around her areola and then across her peaks, trying it again with the flat of his palm. Letting each one catch on her peak, he curls long fingers and scrapes his blunt nails over her. Then he flicks and taps, slow and then fast, gauging her reaction to each caress. Each touch brings a new sensation that makes the blood thrum through her body, hot and fast. He teases her until it’s almost too much. She pulls at her bindings and growls in irritation.

Finally, he lowers his mouth to her, licking flat, warm, and wet across her right bud before capturing her left in a soft kiss. The warm sensation makes her moan in relief and she lifts her back as far off the bed as the leather allows, trying to take more from him. He pulls back, his tongue lightly flicking and tapping against her each time she greedily surges up, staying playful soft and faint, keeping his control. If her hands were free, they would be tangled deep in his black hair, demanding he give her the pressure she wants.

Sif gasps when he withdraws his lips and blows cool breath across moistened skin, amplifying the sensitivity she feels. The icy temperature against her heated skin does nothing to dampening the heat growing between her legs. But Loki maintains his focus, blowing again and then pulling her nipple back into a kiss. The sudden heat of his mouth is both soothing and shocking all at once. She cannot stop the keening noise that leaves her, and hates the laugh he gives her for it.

“Loki,” she warns.

“Hmm,” he questions but does not pause, nosing around the curve of one breast, fingers drawing together in a pleasing, smooth motion upon her other.

“How much longer are you going to keep me waiting?” She is thoroughly ready to take him, and she can feel his erection against her hip, knows how hard he is even through his leathers. He slows his caress, acting as if he has all the time in the world.

“As long as it takes until we are both satisfied.” He looks up at her through his lashes, a devious grin on his mouth. She curses her vulnerability in that moment, held in place under his lustful gaze, and yet it sends a thrill through her to be so totally at his mercy. “I dare say we have only just begun.”

 

Indeed, Sif underestimates how prepared he truly is to keep her waiting until he magics a raven feather into his palm. Endlessly he draws circles and runes around, under, and between her breasts, the skimming feather vexing and yet curiously pleasing. He does not stop until she is squirming underneath him, cursing his name and soaking the sheets underneath her. It is still not enough.

He reaches then for the chalice upon his bedside table, taking a leisurely pull of dark red wine before dipping two fingers inside. With the smooth grace and precision of a calligrapher, he paints her hardened nipples with the wine, and the act feels like magic against her pert, over-sensitized buds. Loki gently tastes the wine upon her skin, and then sucks deeply as if it were a life-giving ambrosia, making her pulse between her legs.

With enthusiasm he lavishes attention upon her, worshiping her breasts until it is almost torture. Until Sif writhes on the bed, straining her bindings, and desperate for the one touch he has not yet given her. Her hips buck up into the air, trying to find relief, but Loki angles his body up and away, deny her the alleviation.

Instead he continues making love to her with his mouth, while she feels a shadow of each pass of his tongue or graze of teeth mirrored in her cunt. It is unbearable.  

“I’m going to kill you,” she threatens, dangerous and storming.

To her great indignation, Loki laughs, low and mellow. The composed, unfazed sound of it only frustrates her further. She could kill him if she only had use of her arms. But she needs him. Needs him to _touch_ her.

“Loki,” she hisses.

He pays her no mind, continuing his wonderfully torturous ministrations. His pale cheeks are flushed pink and his hair has fallen forward but he is so contained. So cruel. So _powerful._

“Loki,” she whines. Whimpers. _Begs_. “Loki, please.”

He moans his victory around the nipple in his mouth then lets it go with one last parting kiss. He moves his mouth lower, adjusting his body between her legs, pushing his hips into her. The heavy leather of his clothing is pleasing against her bare skin and she moans in gratification but it is still not enough. He does not dawdle now, sliding lower until his breath is hot against her ribs, her navel, her center.

“Finally,” he sighs. And then blissfully, he covers her with his warm mouth, no longer denying her what she wants.

His mouth works against her expertly, laving and rolling and tapping and flicking. One hand reaches up to continue to play with her breast, pinching and pulling, while his other hand slides two long fingers inside of her easily, dripping wet and quivering with anticipation as she moans with pleasure.

The combination is too much and she is helpless, bucking against his face and straining against her bound wrists, shouting her climax and the wave after wave of ecstasy that rolls through her, until her legs are shaking and she falls limp against her restraints.

“Well, wasn’t that fun,” Loki purrs against her thigh, wiping his mouth, and climbs back up her body. “You lasted so much longer than I thought you would. You’re so beautiful when you give in,” he whispers into her ear. He kisses her neck while his fingers work at her wrists. She lets him, until she is free.

Lightning fast even with stiff arms and shoulders, she rolls and flips their bodies so that she is on top of him, pinning him to the bed. She does not miss how he does little to resist, lets her handle him roughly. From the way he grins up at her he seems to enjoy it, expected it even.

“You’re going to pay for that,” she hisses. Loki tilts his head back, baring his neck and looks at her through lowered, lazy lashes.

“I hoped so," he smiles. 


End file.
